Where Wolves Dare to Prey
by CompleteLackOfSurprise
Summary: Will's started sleepwalking again, only this time he's picked up by a mysterious out-of-towner who might change his life for the better, or is it for the worst? Gen for now but maybe slash later on, let's see what happens.
1. Chapter 1: Sleeper

"Now I've seen everything." A gruff voice sounded from behind the man's back. Will had suffered from night terrors and bouts of sleepwalking in the past, but never on his darkened travels had he been roused by the voice or presence of a stranger such as this. Not to his recollection at least. But now he was turning, glinting beads of sweat lining his temples like a crown of thorns, and his eyes were conscious, aware of the figure now standing before him. There were lights too, leaving the approaching stranger in the shadow of his vehicle. He took a step forward and Will tried to do the opposite but found that his limbs had betrayed him.

"Wh-Where am I?" Will rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand as they adjusted to the sharp blaze of the headlights. The stranger was only a few inches away from him now and the spherical beams of light exposed the rough edge of his jawline and then the rest of his rugged features. Will didn't recognise him, he had never seen that face before, but something in his eyes was dangerously familiar; a flicker of something he had seen the day he killed Garett Jacob Hobbs. He'd seen it somewhere else too but he couldn't quite place it. The man smiles but there's something predatory about it, a kind of sureness that's truly terrifying.

"You're walking down the Virginia Highway in your boxer shorts, son." Will noticed that the guy's accent wasn't native of the area and this intrigued him even more. For some reason he found this man stranger than the idea of himself standing half-naked in the middle of the road. "I…I feel a little, I don't know…_weird_." He blinked hard and then looked down at his own body as though it were entirely new to him, an alien shell that had been bestowed upon him during slumber. Then his eyes met the stranger's just as he had started speaking. "Come on. I'll drive you home." Will didn't refuse, he couldn't, not really, not while he was lost out here in the middle of the goddamn highway. How had he even walked so far in such a short space of time? The question hung in the air for a few moments before being scattered to the wind and Will found himself walking towards the stranger's car.

"What's your name, son?" The man asked him once he was safely buckled into the passenger seat. Will searched his face, scanned those dark, sepia eyes for some sort of recognition, to see if he knew Will from somewhere, perhaps had only heard rumours about him, but there was nothing. This man wasn't giving anything away. "Graham…Special Agent Will Graham." His voice was shaky, unsure whether or not these words were true, whether his title was still valid. The stranger doesn't blink, simply smiles and offers his hand. "Peterson." He says. "Frank Peterson." His hands are soft yet firm and the sudden human contact wakes Will up with a start. "Easy there, fella. I don't bite." Frank is still grinning from ear to ear. "I got the love of God in my heart, son." He lays a hand on his own chest. "There's no harm here." Suddenly Will is hit by a wave of nausea and he can't help feeling as though he'd be safer walking home alone than with this 'Frank Peterson' and his love-filled heart.

"Where abouts do you live, son?" Peterson asked as he started up the engine. Will curled his legs up, his chin resting on the plateau of his knees. "Wolf Trap. It's about an hour or so from here, sorry." The words were quiet but Frank heard every syllable, his eyes drifting from the road to this mysterious passenger. Mystery was all part of the job, he reminded himself, and it was the part he anticipated most. "It's no bother, Mr Graham. I'm heading up to Reston anyhow, so it's on my way." He said this with his eyes on the road, so as to make this comment seem flippant, entirely beside the point. Will saw it as anything but. "What's in Reston?" He feigned a smile of his own.  
"Oh…" Peterson pushed his round spectacles higher up the bridge of his nose and then repositioned his hands on the steering wheel. "Not a lot other than a few good church going folk. I've been asked to take over as reverend over in Dulles, you see." His passenger nodded but didn't look any more informed than he had been two minutes ago. Frank could tell from his restless state that the boy had more questions to ask, it came with his profession he supposed. "And…" Will began. "Where exactly have you come from, Reverend?" The last word came out a lot sharper than the others, as though the Agent expected Frank to correct him and in doing so, blow his cover.

He would not take the bait.

"Minnesota." Frank says truthfully, though the reason might be skewed ever so slightly. "Yeah…" He continued. "Lived there for the last decade or so. Just trying to help spread the word of the Lord." With that he gave Will a sort of wink, or at least that's what it looked like from the passenger side and it made him highly uncomfortable in a way that he simply couldn't express. For the rest of the trip he decided to keep schtum and in closing his eyes like the flicker of a crow's wing, pretending to sleep turned into a deep slumber from which he would only be shook from once they reached Wolf Trap and drove over an array of speed bumps that lifted him up for a split second and then planted him firmly in his seat.

"Which street is it, Will?" The driver's voice sounded peculiar in the haze of Will's post-sleep state. He could have sworn that the pronunciation was that of someone else entirely, someone he had known for a lot longer, someone who had previously betrayed him. His eyes shot open and he turned to face Frank, only this time it was Dr Lecter's face he saw glaring back at him with that same terrifying sureness that only a predator can possess. Will stared back in utter disbelief, but as he blinked once more, Frank's face was back and his brow creased in confusion. "Are you okay, son?" He asked, turning the whole of his upper body round to face him. Graham shook his head like a dog chasing a fly but the word that escaped his lips was "Yes." Will had said it but he didn't feel it, had lied to avoid suspicion of his own suspicions. The contradiction of this drive was beginning to make his head spin in time with the tilt of his stomach.

Will directed him further until they finally pulled up outside his house, though Frank thought it looked more like a cabin than anything else. The sky was a chalk painting of blues and violets by this time, the moon and sun touching their cheeks in a farewell embrace before parting ways, and as Will opened the car he spied something amiss about his beloved abode. "Did you leave your lights on?" Peterson asked, closing his door with a loud thump that seemed to cause a stir inside the house. _The dogs._ "No. I mean… I don't remember." Will was talking but there was a distraction in his voice. Instead of standing there in his boxers trying to make out whether there was someone inside, he quickly made his way up the drive and then the front steps with Frank in tow.

The front door was open, though whether or not this was of his own doing, Will couldn't be sure.

"Hello?" He called out as they set foot inside. There was no answer. Will's dogs came scrambling into the kitchen, their claws tapping against the tile, and then a figure appeared in the doorway leading into the living room, a figure Will would never have guessed would be there. "Hannibal? What…what are you doing here?" Will's voice was shattered like shards of bone against the black of night, he was powerless in that moment and numb to his surroundings. Winston licked at his hand and his mind rattled inside his skull. "The prison alerted me of your release and I…well, I would have come round sooner but of course, I feared my presence would not be welcome." Hannibal risked a smile but it was not returned. "Who is your friend?" He asked, eyeing Frank with cool suspicion.

"Hi, I'm Frank Peterson. Reverend Frank Peterson." The man corrected himself, almost trying to make a point of his title. Hannibal was not one to be beat at this game. "And you are?" Frank held out his hand as he had done to Will only an hour or so ago. "Dr Hannibal Lecter. Will's psychiatrist." The word sounded like a taboo the very moment it left the man's lips and Will couldn't help but scrub at his reddening cheeks. "Mr Graham didn't tell me he'd been incarcerated." Peterson said with a wry smile. "But listen here, son, I don't judge. Only the good Lord can do that." Hannibal's eyes were alight with amusement. He had seen that fire in Frank's eyes the moment he entered, but only now was he beginning to like this character. "None of that's important!" Will said a little too loudly. "What I want to know is why are you in my house at…" His eyes went to the clock above his fridge. "Five O'clock in the morning! How did you even get in here?"

"Your front door was open, Will." He lied. "That in itself was peculiar to me and so I took it upon myself to check if you were alright. When I saw that you weren't in bed I thought I'd stay here for a while until you got back. I needed to make sure you were okay." For some reason the idea of Hannibal being in his bedroom, even without him being there, made Will's heart leap inside his chest. The nausea was back but it was different this time; it started in his stomach and then fractured into a million agonising pieces that melted into the boiling river of his bloodstream. "You _needed_ to make sure I was okay?" Will sounded angry now but the others kept their cool.  
"Where was this _need_ to make sure I'm okay when I was in prison? Why has it suddenly emerged at five in the morning?" Their eyes were searing into each other, caught in a heated embrace that would not be easily broken. That was, until Frank moved between them.

"Easy now, fellas." Peterson put his arms out in protest but Will felt as though they were there to assert his own authority. That was a strange thought, a reverend with authority? "This guy obviously cares a lot about you, Will." He looked at Hannibal, looked right into the hollow depths of his eyes and didn't look away until he was forced to. "He was the reason I was imprisoned, Frank. He was the one who told everyone his suspicions and had them arrest me." His eyes were startlingly white now and if it were quieter, Frank thought, you might have been able to hear the little guy's heart breaking. Hannibal sighed dejectedly, or at least he aimed for that impression to be made. "I'm sorry, Will. I knew I should not have come here. I'll be going now." He walked past the two of them and headed for the door, turning his head at the last minute. "One more thing." Dr Lecter smiled slightly, though he wasn't sure it was the right reaction exactly. "Why are you in your…underwear?" He looked at the pair of them almost speculatively, his eyes darting up from Will's crotch to his lips and then those agonisingly green eyes.

"I was…sleepwalking…_again_." Will blushed, standing with his arms folded across his chest like a petulant little child. He knew that Lecter would say something negative about it, that he'd probably blame it on Will's mental instability and tell him to try and 'tune in' to reality more. Like that was as easy as snapping your fingers or clicking your heels. But Hannibal didn't say either of these things, he merely lowered his gaze sympathetically, shot Frank one final glance and then left without saying another word. This made Will feel even more uncomfortable as he was used to lengthy explanations from his psychiatrist about the ways of the world and how he fit into the grand scheme of things. It disheartened him a little, he supposed, but then Hannibal was gone and there was only him and 'the reverend.'

"You know…" Frank began. "If a man did to me what that fella did to you, well, let's just say I wouldn't let him get away with it for too long." Will had to do a double take when he heard this, his ears still a little foggy after his little night time escapades. "I'm sorry, what?" His eyebrows curved to meet in a frustrated little knot. Peterson grinned like he had done when they first met, when Will had seemed nervous at the touch of his hand. He felt more than nervous now, this was beyond anxiety, beyond human emotion entirely. "I said, I wouldn't have let him get away with that, framing you." The man's voice seemed different now, not unlike dropping a phony accent, but it was more than that, it was a shift in personality almost. "But what about 'turn the other cheek' and all that…Christian stuff. Isn't that what the bible teaches?" Will stifled a laugh.

"Pfft." Frank let out a warm breath that almost resembled laughter of his own. "The bible?" He said the word as though it were a foul, disease ridden thing that would stain his tongue if left to linger too long. Will didn't know quite what he was hearing. "The bible is a contradiction, Mr Graham." The two men were close now, Peterson's eyes burning like the darkest liquor, his teeth a stark contrast but not an unpleasant one. "The Old Testament promises an all-powerful, unsympathetic God who smote more people than he set on Earth, whilst The New Testament proclaims that God is merciful and loving and that if you plead forgiveness…" He leant forward, the warmth of his body passing for that split second into Will's. "You will be saved." The words were smoke before Graham's very eyes.

"Reverend?" Will said his title with uncertainty, narrowing his gaze as he did so. Frank shook his head, his smile still intact. "F-Frank?" Will asked again. This was beginning to feel like using a magic-8-ball, its message the same for every turn: _Ask again later, ask again later…_  
"Lorne." The man said anew, the name fresh on his lips. "Lorne Malvo." Will was lost now, his face a picture of bewilderment. Lorne held out his hand for the third time that night and as his new friend shook it, he pulled the boy close to his body and whispered warmly against his ear; "I'm a Hitman, Will, and I think you require my services."


	2. Chapter 2: Lone Wolf

Lorne went through it around ten times, explaining to Will just what his job entailed and assuring him that if he were to say the word, his new 'friend' would be more than happy to offer some complementary justice. "It's an easy question, Mr Graham." He said after a long period of silence on Will's side. "Yes…" Lorne's brow twitched, questioning him even further. "Or no?" Still nothing. No reply. Will opens his mouth slightly but no words escape, he can't find the right ones amongst the meaningless jargon and the information Lorne has bombarded him with over the past half an hour. This man is a Hitman, the thought kept circling his mind like a vulture paroling the plains. He is the only one who could possibly get away with this job, and yet…

"I-I don't think I can…" Malvo senses Will's internal battle and interjects before he is given yet another vague and evasive answer. "You won't have to do anything, Will. Just say yes or no." He keeps his eyesight level with the younger man's, using every ounce of positive, persuasive energy left inside of him. It comes naturally after years of doing what he does. "Yes." Will says after the longest time, though his voice is almost inaudible. He nods but Lorne needs more than that, he needs certainty. "I didn't hear you." The Hitman leans a little closer, orchestrating the Will Graham pantomime. Its main star pipes up. "I said, y-yes." That just won't do.  
"Louder!" Malvo raises his arms theatrically. "With gumption!"  
"YES!" Will is shaking now, his eyes wide and lips gleaming with a fresh coat of saliva.

Lorne says nothing, just watches the other man's chest heaving as he contemplates what he's just said, what he's just done. It's going to happen this time, Will thinks, there will be a reckoning even if it's not carried out by his own hand. Before he has any more time to think, Lorne places both hands on each side of Will's face and says with a broad, all-encompassing smile, "Atta boy." He kisses him then and it's so quick that the shock doesn't quite register in the younger man's mind until Lorne is walking straight past him and then heading towards the door. "Oh and Will…" He calls over his shoulder, one hand on the cool doorframe. "Try to get some sleep now."

The office was quiet, a dark solace where Dr Lecter truly felt alive in his loneliness. The pencil only kisses the paper lightly, it's like a feather drifting across the page, guided by Lecter's hand. He tunes the rest of his thoughts out, the stresses – though he doesn't always see them as such – of keeping up with the identity he's made for himself. There's only the sound of the granite against the paper and Lecter's own blood as it surges through his veins.

Then the door.

The knock is an unwelcome sound, a trespasser even without entering. Hannibal lays his pencil down and lines it up on the edge of the paper, making sure there is equal space above and below it. "Just a moment." He says as he rises from his chair. The door opens soundlessly and the face behind it is smiling, a sureness in his eyes that Dr Lecter recognises instantaneously. He pretends to fumble for the man's name. "Reverend…Paulson, was it?" Lorne is still smiling, particularly since he can tell that Hannibal is trying to seem nonchalant, he's trying to gain the upper hand before the game has even truly begun. "Peterson." He corrects the psychiatrist. "But please, call me Frank." Hannibal moves aside, letting the man squeeze past him like an eel.

"I wasn't aware that we had an appointment, Frank." They both walk over to his desk and before Hannibal can explain what he's been doing and that he'd prefer to be left alone to continue doing so, Lorne is leaning over his unfinished sketch and fingering the pencil work. "Not bad." He says without looking up. "Not bad at all, Dr Lecter." And then he smiles but there's something smug about it and Hannibal clenches his fists by his sides. Rude, he thinks, inconceivably rude. "Forgive me." Lorne wipes his hand on his pant leg and then walks back round the desk until they're face to face once more. "I just thought I'd come on by and pay you a visit. I'm not usually one to pry, but I found Mr Graham, your former patient, quite fascinating." Jealousy rose in the back of Hannibal's throat like hot bile. "I was curious as to his backstory."

"What makes you think I'm at liberty to share that information with you, Mr Peterson?" Dr Lecter straightened his tie, a gesture that caught Malvo's eye for some unknown reason. As he scanned the rest of the office, Lorne realised that not only were Hannibal's suit shirt and tie a deep, pouting red, but his walls were red too and as for the curtains, well, they looked like they'd been blood-streaked by the doctor's own hand.

Lorne doesn't doubt this for a second.

"In truth, Dr Lecter, I find myself empathising with the boy. I'd like to help him if I can, maybe even get him to see the light of our good Lord." Hannibal thinks he can hear Will's stifled laughter somewhere in the distance. "Empathy is more Will's speciality. It's what got him where he is today. Or was." The last two words are almost inaudible but Lorne sniffs them out like a truffle pig. "He's found himself in a little spot of trouble, has he?" The man cocks an eyebrow. Lecter gestures to the two opposing chairs, normally set out for his client and himself, and the two men take a seat. The leather creaks as Lorne sits down, a grin fixed to his lips. "Will has a lot of problems, as you were probably made well aware of last night, having picked him up half way down the Virginia highway. He suffers from delusions and that's what ultimately led to his arrest, even if he continues to blame me for it. I think that's all you need to know about the circumstances."

The silence is deafening. There's nothing but their eyes now, the startling whites and the expanding pupils, a fire in both sets of irises. They both sense competition, and for Hannibal at least, it's his favourite kind. "But…" Lecter's voice would have startled any normal person. "I admire your concern, Frank." The corners of Lorne's eyes crease as he squints a smile. "I only wish you were being sincere." As Hannibal says this, Malvo's face straightens and his eyes fade to a white-hot cinder. There's no point carrying on with this charade and they both know it. Lorne is there to kill him, and Hannibal is there to be killed. At least that's how Lorne sees it.

"It's usually easier if I surprise you. You could have at least gone along with the game, it would have made things a lot less stressful for ya." Malvo pouts, pulling out his AutoMag pistol from the breast of his jacket. The barrel gleams even in the darkness. "I'm not fond of surprises." Hannibal says matter-of-factly, slowly rising from his chair. The gun follows his every movement, a warning, he supposes, but he didn't think this 'Frank' was a warning kind of guy. Perhaps intrigue has given Lecter a way out. "Tell me something, Dr Lecter. How are you so cool, so…collected, even under this kind of pressure? What are you hiding?" Lorne waggles the gun as though the muzzle is the mouth of a ventriloquist dummy and he alone holds the power to make it speak.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Hannibal laughs, wetting his lips. They're both standing now and a sort of dance begins; Lorne steps forward and Dr Lecter retreats until eventually they're walking in one large circle, two vultures in a death lock. "If you kill me now, Frank, you will never find out why I am…the way that I am." His eyes narrow, making a threat all of their own. Malvo can't help but chuckle to himself. If only this man knew, he pondered, just what I'm capable of. The irony was astounding. "If that's true Dr Lecter, then I'm just going to have to use my talents to make you talk. Especially since you now know what it is that I want from you." Lorne aims the gun at Hannibal's chest. In those split seconds, while Lorne is contemplating just what he can do to find out the truth from the psychiatrist, Lecter strikes Malvo just beneath the crook of the elbow, causing the gun to soar out of reach and then they're on the floor.

"Jesus, Hannibal." Lorne coughs from deep within his throat as he reacts to the three blows delivered by his opponent: a strike to the arm, a shot to the stomach and then a sweep of the legs. What Hannibal doesn't expect is that Malvo pulls him down with him. Lecter is on top of Lorne, his hands clinging to the man's collar. "You really shouldn't take the Lord's name in vain, Reverend." He says scornfully, laying a powerful punch into the side of Malvo's face. Lorne is laughing now and he spits a mouthful of blood onto the carpet beside him. "God is good." The bloodied assailant mumbles and Hannibal bends further over his body, cupping an ear. "I beg your pardon?" His tone was mocking. As Lecter released his hold slightly, Lorne grabbed him by his shoulders and flung him backwards. He was now firmly on top.

"I said…" Malvo positioned his hands around Lecter's throat. "God. Is. Good." With the pronunciation of each new word he tightened his grip until Hannibal was writhing beneath him. Lecter bucked his hips, trying with all his might to get Malvo underneath him once more, but he was fixed there like a swatted fly. Then Lorne noticed something, something more than a little surprising. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" He tilted his hips ever so slightly forward and felt what he had mistakenly neglected only moments ago. Hannibal closed his eyes to avoid meeting Lorne's, but this only humoured the man further and he rocked forwards, producing a silent moan from Dr Lecter. "Maybe that's how I get it out of you." Lorne circles his hips and Hannibal is gone; he has a vision of himself melting into the carpet, the fabric around him pooling like dark, insidious water that feeds into his mouth and nose.

"What are you?" Lorne's hands loosen a bit but his hips are still writing out a torturous alphabet. Lecter tries to turn his crotch away from him but he's trapped and growing harder by the second. "If you want to know what I am…then look at yourself." He raises his hips and feels Malvo's erection against his own and for a moment they're both starry eyed, the wounds and bruises of their struggle fading to a tingle. Hannibal frees his hands from his sides and grasps Lorne by the throat, pulling him down into a searing kiss that leaves his lips sore, aching. They're both panting, the taste of one another like wine from the same vineyard, that familiar undertone of something dark, like ancient blood. Then Lorne reaches down, rubs Hannibal's cock over his slacks and their lips are pressing against one another, tongues meeting without hesitation or fear. It's never been like this with anyone before, Lecter muses, but then Lorne is unbuckling his belt and he hears the silent vibration of his zipper.

"Ahh." Hannibal lets out a blissful moan as he feels Lorne's hand wrapped around him. Malvo starts a slow, agonising rhythm and it's all Hannibal can do not to come right then and there. "What are you?" Lorne says once more, his words coming out in a hot plume. Lecter answers by kissing him hard, biting the man's bottom lip until he can hardly stand it. The friction is beyond anything either of them have ever experienced and it's building up to an exquisite peak; Hannibal knows this, knows that he's close but doesn't want to give in just yet, doesn't want to be the one to succumb first. In a split second the doctor manages to flip Lorne over and as soon as he feels the other man beneath him, he searches with his hand to free Malvo's insistent erection. He doesn't take a hand to it, but rather leans against it, rubbing his cock against Lorne's until they're both mirroring each other's breathe. Then, and only then does Hannibal crouch over him and with tantalising precision, take Lorne into his mouth.

"Fuck, Hannibal." Was all that he could say and it was like music to Lecter's ears. It was exactly the distraction he needed, the perfect ruse to lure Malvo into a spellbound state of near frenzy. Hannibal spied the pistol out of the corner of his eye whilst Lorne had shut his tight, enjoying the doctor's talented tongue. Lecter stretched his arm out and felt around but was still an inch or so away from the gun. As Lorne's eyes cracked open, Hannibal brought his hand back and placed it around the man's shaft which caused yet another wave of delight to pass through his body and his eyes were closed again within an instant.

This was going to take more cunning than he had expected.

"I don't want you to come yet." Hannibal whispered, his lips against Lorne's. The man looked saddened by this but he was willing to hear him out; after all, a man with such impeccable talents should always be given a chance to prove himself, even if he wanted to feel that release, even if he wanted Hannibal to be the one to deliver it. "I want you to close your eyes." He said the words as though he expected Malvo to do so without much hesitation, as if he had the heart of someone like Will and not the mind of a calculated killer. "If you do this…" Lecter continued. "I will tell you what I am. I will show you what it is to be me…and I swear to you, it will be worth it." His words clung to the air like vapour and for a few seconds neither of them said anything. All that could be heard was heavy breathing and the silent clockwork cogs working inside Malvo's skull.

"Fine." He said after a few minutes and his eyes were shut. Hannibal wasted no time and immediately strode over to where the pistol lay and held it snugly in his hand; a perfect fit. He stood before his adversary and softly said, "Now…open your mouth." Lorne smiled at this but after a few moments and a flick of his tongue to dampen his lips, he complied. Lecter knew that as soon as the cold steel hit Malvo's tongue, his eyes would flash open and the game would turn into something more serious. But as he did so, Lorne stayed just as he had been; his eyes remained shut and his mouth didn't quiver an inch. It was only after a ridiculous few moments that Lorne's eyes did open and he backed away from the gun as if it were a sweet whose taste he no longer cared for.

"What?" He said, noting the look of utter confusing that had just began to register on Hannibal's face. "You didn't think it was loaded, did you?" A lengthy sigh from Dr Lecter, his chest heaving in silent bursts. Lorne began to shake his head tauntingly. "You really have been a very bad boy. But you're right…I do know what you are now." His eyes went to the pistol, eyeing it like a child would a home-wrecker. "In fact, I always knew. I knew the moment I set eyes on you. You had Will in your palm like an ant beneath a magnifying glass and I knew, boy did I know, that you've had many more just like him." Hannibal was seething with jealousy again, only this time he wasn't sure that fucking this man was the answer. "But tell me, Dr Lecter…" Malvo fastened his trousers. "Are you going to kill this one? Or are you content with pulling off his antennae?"

Hannibal threw the empty gun to the ground and then turned his head away, the malice in his fractured soul growing denser by the second. He was no longer aroused, nor intrigued, but murderous, and as he turned around, his white knuckled fists ready to meet whatever part of Lorne got in his way, he found himself too late. Lorne was already by the door. "Mull it over will you, doc?" He said, that same damnable grin lighting his face. "I'll be back soon to hear what you have to say for yourself." And just like that, he was gone; a lone wolf abandoning the pack at the smell of fresh blood.


End file.
